


Price

by naughtypixie



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis needs so much therapy, Gen, M/M, Possibly not from the Catholic Church, Prostitution, Self-harm in a religious context
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3659829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtypixie/pseuds/naughtypixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was never about lust for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Price

**Author's Note:**

> It occurred to me once in passing that I never saw Aramis hitting on a truly happy woman. This is what accidentally came out.  
> Um.  
> Sorry?
> 
> Thank you Te for the beta-ing. All other stubborn mistakes are my own.

It was never about lust for him.

He knew the others would laugh if he spoke that aloud -- uproariously in Porthos's case -- and he knew he would let them. 

It was better for them to believe him driven by something so... base.

Something *he* wanted for himself.

It... nothing could be further from the truth.

It was never about lust.

Oh, of course lust played a part. He could not make his cock harden if there was not at least an *element* of it, could not satisfy, could not make them gasp and moan and scream his name in abandon. Certainly, the women he bedded were all... beautiful. Inspiring. *Needy*.

Sad.

They were all sad. Unhappy. Frustrated. *Trapped*.

They were all of those things where he could *see* them. Where he could read the lines of misery on their faces, the look in their eyes which spoke of nothing but loneliness. Of being...

Miserable.

Late at night, when he had whipped himself bloody, when his hand was weak from holding the scourge and his whole body shook with unsuppressed tremors, Aramis would allow himself to finally admit -- this was what he could *do*. How he could *help*. How his useless, undeserving, *needy* self could... help.

He doesn't like to admit this.

He never does.

Perhaps the Church got into his bones the way ergot rot sets in the gut. He might still be pretty to look at, but maybe this was the way God wanted it, to preserve his beauty, despite the rot which took root and settled inside. All that need and *perversion*, twisted unnatural *want*. Yes, God kept only the outside beautiful while the inside fouled.

At least his body could be of use.

He never bedded the happy.

Sometimes he wondered how Porthos never noticed this, but perhaps *unlike* Aramis, he wasn't *obsessed* with his *best friend*.

Nights like these, when even the *thought* of Porthos could make his treacherous cock twitch in interest even though he was still dripping blood on the boards behind him, even though he had lost feeling in his knees hours ago from praying and his mind was buzzing from the amount of Latin still churning on his lips...

At least this way his filthy self could be used for *something* good.

Make someone happy.

Even if it was only for a little while.

Athos, Porthos, and even d'Artagnan had on more than one occasion accused him of being suicidal.

He wasn't. Not -- not exactly.

He had no way to explain to them that this was the only way he could offer goodness. Being a Musketeer gave him drive, but being able to ease -- ease *unhappiness* when he saw it on a woman, gave him *purpose*. Gave him *forgiveness*. He had... so much forgiveness to ask for.

Aramis sometimes wondered if Athos would understand. He was obviously a man running from something, as well. Aramis was, however, never sure if it was *only* forgiveness Athos was after -- *would* Athos even know where to start with forgiveness? -- or if he was still mired in his need to express a general *rage* at the world and God's plan which drove him so deeply into the bottle and his own mind.

Everyone looked for absolution in their own ways.

Prostituting his body to ease unhappiness was Aramis's.

He would keep doing it 'til some vindictive soul finally completed God's plan and finished him off. He would still be beyond regret, however, if he but managed to ease just one more woman from the sadness he saw in her eyes. If his body and his charms could help... well, then, the price was well worth it.

Aramis loved life. Loved its vibrancy and its joys. Loved being a Musketeer. Loved food and wine and song. Loved his brothers and sharing their triumphs. Loved his best friend. Loved... Porthos.

If that meant.... watching him laugh and fight and play and *be* -- 

If this was the only way to be good enough, *clean* enough... then so be it.

Aramis would pay.

Gladly.


End file.
